Social media is an infectious disease, spread by word of mouth. We pretend we have something worth saying out loud each day.
Who cares how diligently we reshare or like? We like to think we improve silence, but no one listens.
What real change are we making, parroting this stuff? No one sounds original speaking others’ words.
Why are we so important? Our lives go so fast. Before the ink dries, our contract expires.
10 DEC 2024
Dear Dick:
That’s quite a trick,
to make a story stick,
dipped in pure bullshit two feet thick
and built up solid brick by brick.
Must say it makes me sick,
you egocentric
big prick.
Dear Rich:
I hate to bitch
about your latest pitch:
All lies, some truth, I can’t tell which.
Yes, you have truly found your niche:
you just speak and we twitch;
we are bewitched!
How rich!
Dear Rick:
Look, now, how quick
the carrot on your stick
turns out to be rotten and slick,
and your fawning, backstabbing clique,
who think themselves so suave and slick,
find themselves up the creek,
their charm toxic.
Tragic!
17 MAR 2017
Well, my mom is visiting for a few days, having driven 2,500 miles on a cross-country jaunt to see not only me, but my sister in Tennessee, uncles and cousins in Cincinnati, the farm in Forest and then friends in Madison, WI and back across the country to San Diego.
She brought with her a number of interesting things, as she is in the process of sorting through everything in her house and distributing items to myself and my siblings. One of those things was a box of my writings dating back as far as 30 years, including but not limited to, song Lyrics, short stories, school essays, drawings, etc. Much of this I gave to my parents for safe-keeping when I moved to Boston in 1991 – but other parts of it were part of a much earlier trove of collected stuff. High school journals, elementary school skits, and so on. After plowing through this compendium of teen angst, I find myself more and more in agreement with Wallace Stevens on the matter of a poet’s subject being bestowed congenitally. Were this not the case, I don’t know how I could have touched upon certain themes, expressed in certain ways, as I find in even some of my earliest efforts. Of course, there is a great deal of schlock to be unearthed in these, and equal parts precocity and absorption with and of the culture of the times (mostly the mid to late 70s and early 80s). But there are some gems there. Some that barely require the shaping of the jeweler’s tools. As I rediscover them, I’ll be adding them to this site, which ultimately serves as the touchstone for all things artistic throughout my life.
I also revise my earlier comparison with W.B. Yeats. One thing that we both share is a somewhat conceited relatively unshakable belief in our own genius (LOL). One thing that I lack that certainly assisted Yeats in proving that greatness to others is the propensity and capacity for self-advertisement, for putting my name out there in whatever form possible. Or maybe these found writings of mine illustrate otherwise – because certainly there is much that I have written throughout my life for the purpose of including others in my version of reality. Hmm…
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